Page 63 of The Refiner

“Can I take these off?” I tug at his pants.

“No.” He takes a step back. “In here, you don’t make the rules.”

I wasn’t aware that I made the rules outside of the bedroom, but his comment has me thinking he gives me a lot more leeway than he does most people.

He reaches behind him and grabs the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one motion.

“Unhook your bra. I want to see all of you.” Normally, I wouldn’t be able to stand such barking demands, but the way his jaw ticks like he’s doing all he can to restrain himself is a powerful feeling. It’s weird knowing that the mere sight of your body can cause a man to lose control—to lose his so carefully crafted composure.

“And if I say no?”

I think the corner of his lip twitches, but I can’t be sure because he moves so fast. Pushing me back, his mouth sucks a nipple through the fabric of my bra, forcing me to close my eyes and cry out in pleasure.

The pressure of his suction, the torturous motion of his tongue has me arching underneath the weight of his body. “I’ll take it off,” I beg, needing to feel him without anything between us. “I’ll take off my bra.”

“Too late,” he clips out, right before he bites the edge of my bra, his teeth grazing my heated skin in the process. Using only his mouth, he bares my breast by pulling the cup to the side. I don’t even care if he ruined the elasticity of a good bra because his mouth closes over my nipple, nipping, sucking, and driving me out of my mind as he massages the other one with his hand.

I’m on fire, squirming, likely grinding against him as he brings me to the cusp of madness. “My pants,” I beg, wrapping my legs around his waist, trying to push his pants down with my feet. “Take off my pants.”

In this room, I’m not proud.

I’m starved for this man.

I’m starved for his attention—his devotion—his love.

Everything Astor Potter is, I want.

“Take off your pants and do what to you?”

I could hit him for removing his mouth, but since I’m throbbing and needy, I’ll let it go. “Take off my pants and fuck me.”

I expected a different reaction, not him clucking his tongue and standing up, unwrapping my legs from his waist and pushing them to my chest. “We don’t do that in here.” His finger finds my slit covered by my leggings.

“Do what?” I gasp as he makes strong strokes up and down, increasing the pressure of his finger when he gets close to the sensitive bundle of nerves at my center.

“Fuck,” he answers, finally stopping where I want him. But he doesn’t apply pressure. Instead, he reaches between my legs and grabs me by the chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes—eyes that hold a finality about them. “I’m not going to fuck you, Keagan.”

Oh, well, that’s disappointing. But I should have known better. He can fuck—

He yanks my legs flat and pulls me toward the edge of the bed, lying over me like a sexy weight. “I’m not going to fuck you…yet.” His mouth presses against mine, his tongue slipping in like it’s familiar—like we’ve done this a million times. This is what he does to me—he makes me feel like I’ve always belonged by his side.

Without pause, Astor’s hands drift down my body as he rises ever so slightly, his thumbs hooking my waistband, his mouth parting from mine as he slides the leggings down to my knees. But then he stops.

“What are you doing? Finish taking them off.” I kick at the fabric preventing my legs from wrapping around him.

Of course, Astor ignores my pleas, looking down at my boob pulled out of the bra cup, my hair likely disheveled from his hands, and yanks me down the mattress. “I think I’ll take you like this.”

No wonder women get pregnant around him. I’m already close to a roaring orgasm, just by looking at his muscled torso looming over me. He may think I’m joking, but this man has hero mode in spades.

“Look at me, Keagan.” His voice leaves no room for arguing.

My chest rises with each panting breath. “I see you.”

“Do you?” He grabs the center of my leggings and lifts my legs. “Do you really see me?”

I nod, not sure exactly how deep he’s taking this conversation.

He lifts my legs off the bed, slipping his body between my thighs, the leggings catching at the back of his neck, rendering me immobile as he lowers to his knees on the floor. “I’m not the man you want me to be,” he warns, “but I am the man you need.” He tugs me closer, lining my center with his mouth. “Stop fighting me, Keys.”

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